whispers of a forbidden flame

Chapter 1

Bella — Age 22

The world doesn’t warn you the exact moment you fall in love; it just… slips under your skin and stays there. Mine began when I was sixteen — in a hallway filled with laughter, fruit punch, and my father’s business friends — the moment I first saw Liam Prescott, leaning against our living room doorway in a fitted navy suit, his dark eyes warm and gentle as he reached down to shake my hand.

I’ve been sinking into him ever since.

Now, six years later, I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror of his house — no, my temporary house — trying to convince myself to act normal. This was supposed to be simple: Mom and Dad have been transferred to Italy for the next eight months and didn’t want me putting my dreams on pause. Liam offered to let me stay with him until I found my own apartment since his divorce left one side of his five-bedroom home practically empty.

That was two days ago.

And I haven’t slept… not because I’m uncomfortable, but because I’m terrified.

Terrified I won’t be able to hide how badly I still want this man.

I drag my fingers through my thick curls, swipe gloss across my lips, and leave the guest room in a cute pair of jeans and a silk tank top that screams I’m trying way too hard. I don’t care anymore — I’m twenty-two, not a child. If fate is kind, maybe Liam will finally stop seeing me as Carter’s little girl.

My bare feet pad quietly down the stairs. Sunday sunlight pours through the tall windows, kissing the marble floors, and I hear soft jazz playing from the kitchen. He always plays jazz on Sundays — like a ritual.

When I step into the kitchen, Liam stands by the stove wearing grey sweats and a plain black t-shirt that clings to his arms. He looks… delicious.

“Morning, Bella,” he says in that soft, deep voice that always makes my belly dip. He’s whisking eggs. That ridiculous dimple flashes when he smiles.

“Morning,” I breathe.

“You sleep okay?”

Lie, Bella. “Mm-hmm.” I nod, leaning against the counter as I watch him move. Everything he does is precise and intentional. “You didn’t have to make breakfast, I could have—”

“I wanted to.” He glances at me, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Sit. Eat.” The command lingers between polite and possessive. My thighs press together under the counter.

I swear I see his gaze flick to my lips, just for half a second, before he turns away again.

Over scrambled eggs and toast, we talk about nothing: the weather, my online design classes, how quiet the house feels without his ex-wife around. But the tension between us is loud. Thunderous. My fork trembles in my hand while I try to keep my heart from bursting out of my chest.

“Bella?”

“Yeah?”

He watches me for a long moment, heat crawling beneath his calm exterior. “You’ve grown up.” His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth to wipe away a crumb — so casually intimate I almost stop breathing.

Everything in me melts.

“Liam…” I whisper.

He pulls back quickly, standing to rinse his plate before I can say another word. Walls. He’s always building walls between us.

But I’m tired of walls.

---

Liam — Age 37

I should’ve said no the moment Carter offered to let his daughter stay here. Stay safe in my house, he said, trusting me the way you trust a brother.

Only, I’m not thinking like a brother.

Not when Bella walks around in tiny shorts… not when I hear her sigh in her sleep down the hall or catch her stepping out of the shower with towels wrapped tight around those curves—

Focus.

I scrape burnt egg off the frying pan and shove it into the sink harder than necessary. This is wrong. She’s too young. I knew her when she still wore pigtails and braces. I held her the day she broke her arm falling off her dad’s motorcycle at age nine.

But now she’s twenty-two… with soft lips and those eyes. The way she looks at me makes it impossible to breathe.

She’s not a girl anymore — she’s a woman. A dangerous one. And if I don’t control myself, I’ll ruin everything.

I hear her laughter drift from the living room where she’s watching TV. Sweet, carefree. I should stay away… but instead, I wipe my hands and walk down the hallway like a man marching to his doom.

She’s curled up on the couch, remote in hand. Her bare legs are folded beneath her, tank top straps sliding slightly over her shoulder. “You’re done?” she asks.

“Yeah.” My voice is husky.

“Wanna watch with me?”

I should say no. I sit beside her.

The couch is too small. Our knees touch. The ache in my chest tightens until it hurts to breathe.

Halfway through the episode, she leans her head against my shoulder. Soft. Trusting. I swallow hard, trying to think about anything except how good she smells.

“Liam?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You know you can.”

She turns, face unbearably close. I can see every eyelash. “Do you still see me as a little girl?”

Everything inside me cracks open. I don’t answer — I can’t. My jaw ticks as I stare at her mouth.

“Because I’m not,” she whispers.

Before I can stop myself, I brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know.”

Our faces are an inch apart. She licks her bottom lip nervously and I almost groan.

“Bella… don’t,” I warn, even though I’m the one leaning in.

“I’m tired of pretending,” she breathes, “aren’t you?”

My hands cup her face before she’s even finished the sentence. I don’t remember choosing to do it — I just do. Her skin is warm under my fingers and her breath hitches. She looks terrified and hopeful all at once.

“Tell me to stop,” I rasp, my forehead pressed to hers. I’m shaking.

She doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t.

I close my eyes, cursing everything, and let my mouth slide over hers anyway. Slow. Forbidden. Heaven. Her lips part beneath mine and she tastes like addiction. Sweet and sinful. Her fingers clutch my shirt and I deepen the kiss because I can’t help it anymore.

I’ve wanted her for too long.

Her soft moan vibrates against my tongue, and I swear I lose my sanity. Everything else disappears — the house, the rules, her father — until it’s just her… pressed against me, lips hot and urgent, pulling me impossibly closer.

She gasps when I lift her onto my lap, straddling me instinctively. The silk of her top brushes my hands as I grip her waist. My mind is screaming stop, but my body is begging more.

“Liam…” she whispers against my mouth, “please don’t stop.”

God forgive me… I don’t.